I went to Valsharah and all I got were these lousy underpants
by Ihsan997
Summary: A troll wakes up in a ditch next to his own head. Armed only with his pet ravager and a pair of underpants, he sets off to find who he needs to kill and where they escaped to. [Re-write complete; 4 chapters]
1. A troll wakes up in a ditch

The world was black.

The world was black.

The world was black.

The world was black.

The world was black.

The world was loud.

The world was loud.

The world was warm.

Hmm...warm.

Sleep.

Sleep

Wait

No

Too soon

Too soon to sleep.

The warmth welcomed him into darkness.

He swam, suffocating as he broke to the surface of the black hole. It was nice and warm, but it was too soon.

No. Not yet.

"Hhhrrrrnnnn..."

He shivered, cold when he climbed out of the blackness. His whole body felt cold despite his eyes feeling hot, and he shook in the cold. This wasn't a normal cold; the ground felt temperate enough, but he was shaking all over. His muscles ached as if he'd been shaking for a long time, even in his sleep. He groaned again and tried to move, finding that the dull pain in every inch of his felt old.

When he realized which direction was up, he tried to lift his head and look around. His head didn't ache, though; it was hyper-sensitive to touch, ringing his ears every time he scraped it against the dirt, but it didn't ache. His forehead was burning hot.

At least he didn't have amnesia. Ral'rush remembered who he was. He remembered a relatively civil discussion with the humans in the kind of town he didn't mind visiting. They were nice, and he met a few of his own people there, too. There was a deer...he'd been hungry. He was hungry now to the point of physical pain. Then there was a loud bang and he drowned in the blackness.

A chittering sound calmed him at first, but then worried him by its lonesome tone. There should have been more.

"Heel," he rasped, not due to a sore throat but as if his voice box hasn't been used in a long time.

From a considerable distance, the four pointy feet skittered. His companion pet ravagers...four of them died by accident in the final raid against the Burning Legion on Argus. There should have been two left with him on Azeroth, but only one of the insectoids rushed to him when he called. Loyal to the very end, the sizeable bug gently took his foot in its mouth and began to pull him out of a damp hole, displaying a surgeon's precision when it avoided piercing his aching hide at all. His vision was blurry, but he could see the edges of a ditch surrounding the hole, and he crawled out the best he could. Dry grass surrounded the wet ditch, and he assumed he'd fallen into a sort of midden.

Shivering so much that his teeth clattered, he tried to ignore the pain in his gums and skull. Even the clattering stung the sensitive flesh of his head; he began to worry. Overly sensitive skin meant one thing in his race.

"Look, look," he ordered the sole ravager he could hear, pointing to the area around them.

While the Outland insect skittered around searching for danger, Ral'rush rolled onto his stomach and fought to his hands and knees. He noticed that one of his hands was just as sensitive to touch, garnering another groan in his dry throat. A huge wave of chills ran up and down his spine. His temperature scared him, but the fear sent his heart racing so fast that he found the energy to turn into a sitting position. He had to figure out what the hell was going on.

Slowly, his senses returned to him, though it took the better part of an hour as he sat. He was freezing cold, but the air was warm. He'd been stripped to his underwear, which he'd soiled. The ditch smelled like dung, though not his, and entrails (also not his). He heard no sounds aside from his battle pet and a few vultures, but the latter sound died down as the birds fled. There were other bodies in the ditch; two animals and two people who'd also been stripped. Aside from that, there was nothing; he could faintly see mountains over the horizon, but they were easily a few days walk from his position.

His ravager returned to him without indication of danger, but the bug engaged in a communicative dance and pointed toward the ditch with its slightly flexible head spines. Hugging himself and shaking with fever, Ral'rush leaned to the side to inspect the scene.

The bodies were all decayed and rotten; ants covered them, although he took note that there were no ants attacking him. The animals looked like deer, albeit gutted, skinless, and stained with blood and dirt for what must have been quite a few days. The people were both orcs in soiled underwear, but their corpses were too desiccated to be recognizeable. The blood covering them consisted of their own as well as the blood of humans; Ral'rush recognized the difference in consistency even in death. There were scraps of cloth, paper, a torn tent and sleeping bags, and his own head.

"What the fuck?!"

His head. Was in the ditch. With an arrow sticking in it. Staring up at him.

Bending over the ditch despite the shivering and pain, he felt a mixture of anger and disgust. And a jungle troll wasn't generally disgusted easily. His entire face stared up at him minus the eyes, which had likely been eaten by vultures. His ears and hair were there, though the back of his head was only partially intact. There was no other part of him there except his face, head, and part of his brain.

In shock, Ral'rush reached up to feel his face, ignoring the torturous sensation when he grasped at his facial features. Aside from the heat of his fever and his lack of hair, he felt normal. His scalp had a small amount of fuzz sort of like when he got a buzz cut and his hair was growing back, but his old decapitated head in the ditch had full hair. As he felt all around his current body, he noticed a difference in texture at the back of his head which matched the part of his old head in the ditch which was missing. If he could rip his new head off and stick the old one on the stump, it would be a decent (albeit decayed) fit.

His brain stem...the skin on the back of his neck which corresponded to that spot was just aching, not sensitive. His head might have been pierced by an arrow, but his brain stem and cerebellum had been left intact.

Troll regeneration left the regenerated part light colored and hypersensitive to touch for a few days thereafter. Did he...regenerate his head? Along with most of his brain?

Ral'rush looked down at his right hand - the similarly sensitive one. The color of his skin was about two shades lighter than his normal complexion. As hard as it was to logically accept, he must have suffered an attack while camping, lost his hand and head...and grown them both back.

He couldn't make stuff like that up.

He looked around him, remembering again that he and his last ravager (there was no sign of the other one) were in the middle of nowhere.

"Shit."


	2. He finds a house in the woods

For half a day, Ral'rush limped along the grassy plain. He didn't even find a tree with branches thick enough to be used as walking sticks until after the first four hours. Contrary to what he'd hoped, walking when suffering from a fever didn't become easier as time went by; he couldn't simply walk off the pain and sickness. His ravager was a loyal companion pet and armored like a tank but not stout enough to help him walk, and he consigned himself to bouts of walking, uncontrollable shakes, and slapping himself to avoid passing out.

Eventually, the woods grew thicker and reminded him of his last moments. He'd been in Val'sharah; the Burning Legion had already fallen. He met the orcs at the town full of rustic humans with Gilnean accents. They were camping...he didn't remember why. There were deer, but he doubted they'd been camping solely to catch wild game. Everything beyond that was blackness, but he rejoiced in at least knowing where he was.

The woodlands grew thicker, and he was thankful that his senses had returned. He could smell blood and cut wood, so he must have been approaching other people. In his condition, he didn't have the luxury of wondering who they were. His ravager was surprisingly calm, giving him hope that there weren't any bandits or demons around, but he still needed to know who he was approaching. He'd have to rely on the kindness of strangers to survive.

After a few more agonizing hours of walking, he noticed the signs of civilization clearly. There were poorly covered tracks as well as trees which had clearly been cultivated for visual barriers and sap. The smells grew stronger even as the woods remained silent, signaling that he was alone.

His hopes rose after another hour when he saw a cabin in the woods. Despite his joy, he still had to hobble slowly as he shivered, granting him more time to observe the surroundings. The structure was well hidden even if the tracks and cultivated plants weren't, and though there wasn't a fresh kill, there was a platform outside for slaughtering wild game which he'd been able to smell for miles. Whoever lived there probably only recently tried their hands at survivalism. The fresh cut of the cabin's logs indicated that it was relatively new.

Unable to save himself with anything other than soliciting pity, Ral'rush ordered his ravager to hide in the bushes while he approached the door slowly.

"Help," he rasped in Orcish, and then in Low Common. Nobody answered, so he tried the door.

The door was larger than a human but smaller than him. Despite the small size and simple wooden framework, he was too weakened by the fever to push hard, and he ended up sitting his weight against the door until the lock broke. He fell through, shaking so hard when he hit the floor that he almost started convulsing. Confident that he was alone, he caught his breath and waved his ravager over for a few moments before inspecting his surroundings.

The cabin looked quite cozy, though that was perhaps due in part to the fact that the ceiling, loft and all the furniture were designed for an orc-sized person. The Alliance banner cancelled out that possibility, however, and Ral'rush assumed everything had been designed of medium size to fit people of many backgrounds. His companion pet skittered inside the cabin and entered what appeared to be a kitchen, feeling around with its head spines for food. Ral'rush shut the door and jammed the broken parts of the door frame back into place before he dragged himself toward the back of the cabin under the loft. Latrines tended to be built into the ground in hunting cabins, and his one was no different.

The numerous stuffed animal heads that greeted him on his way into the basement implied that there might be stored meat in the cabin; he had a bit of experience hunting, and a blood elf comrade had introduced him to the concept of seasonal lodges. A hallway perpendicular to the kitchen led to a stairwell leading downward, and he tried to take a few steps down to check for provisions - again, as his sindorei friend had told him was the layout of such buildings.

Unfortunately, Ral'rush was too heavy for the wooden steps, and the third one broke beneath him. As if his head wasn't already throbbing enough, he rolled over twice and bruised himself up even more when he hit the concrete floor. His ravager leapt down the steps to check for danger, nudging him to sit up again.

"Slow!" he ordered the Outland insect.

Waiting through another round of shivers, he tried to swat at his affectionate pet bug when it began pulling his leg to one end of the basement. Its insistent chittering eventually pushed him to glance at the corner, and he was immediately taken aback. Like a traveler lost in the desert, he'd found his proverbial oasis, and it was most definitely not a mirage.

Stocked right next to the latrine were the most important necessities in his journey: food, medicine, and toilet paper.

"Jackpot," he rasped while stumbling over to the shelves.

In spite of his fevered delirium, he retained the common sense to treat himself before anything else. A row of gnome-sized ancestral healing potions sat in a row with ridiculous price tags on them, and he drank half of them on the spot before retreating to the latrine. His underwear was useless but he was alone and ravagers didn't understand clothes, so he threw the soiled boxer shorts away and spent a good half hour washing himself with a water pump fueled by an aquifer. The medicine began to work by the time he was done bathing, reducing his fever enough such that he could gorge himself on the stored meat, cheese, and bread. He nearly passed out from overeating in the basement, only keeping himself awake due to his lingering worry over the Alliance banner he'd encountered upstairs.

Stark naked but slightly better rested, he climbed out of the basement and inspected the surroundings. The woodwork was human, but the cabin smelled like worgen. The building was well-stocked in alchemical and survivalist tools, including a few which looked so familiar that he paused in surprise. When he checked the main sitting room, he felt uncomfortable due to a dreadful sense of deja vu.

A few of the animal traps spurred a sense of jealousy in his heart that he couldn't explain. Desperate to understand what has happened to him, he felt the traps in his hands and imagined setting them himself. An acoustic guitar on a cushion between the couches filled him with a sense of sadness he couldn't explain. Images of an orc he couldn't remember kept flashing into his mind when he saw the guitar, teasing him with half-memories he couldn't grasp beyond visceral reactions in his gut. A kit of flint and steel, as well as a lantern, gave him such a possessive sense of connection that he took them off a mantle over the fireplace and moved them to a couch closer to him.

Hunched over and brooding, Ral'rush felt frustrated at the choppy pictures in his mind. The rustic human city...Bradensbrook...it was full of Gilneans who were polite to him. He'd met other trolls in a bar, but they left separately. Those orcs...he remembered them only from that town. They weren't people he'd known, really, but he felt sad at their loss, especially when he looked at the guitar. One of them must have been playing it when they were doing whatever it was they were doing. There were scraps of sleeping bags where they'd been; maybe they'd been camping. But camping didn't usually end with two people dead and an arrow in the head.

Until that point, he'd remained calm and almost clinical when wondering about what misfortune had befallen him. His main concern had been living through the fever and possible infection he'd suffered in his regenerated head and hand, but with his condition rapidly improving as he finished most of the potions in the cabin, he was able to focus on an object that flipped his mood to the opposite pole.

In a matter of seconds, all his calmness drained out of him. Whatever sense of relaxation he'd achieved was depleted much faster than it had accumulated, causing him to leap off the couch and scare his pet ravager when he noticed the object in question. Growling and baring his tusks, he fell to his knees on the rug and began to put more pieces together, especially when he remembered that there was taxidermy equipment on a work desk in the corner. All of the pieces of the puzzle started to make sense now - his lantern, the guitar, his traps, the very nature of the hunting lodge...and the ashtray. Yes, the ashtray on the coffee table.

The ashtray was his own right hand.

Rage boiled up inside of him as he realized that whoever had tried to kill him had also cut off his old hand, preserved it with taxidermy, and used it to hold their nasty cigarette ashes. And now he was inside their cabin, new hand and new head and all.


	3. He finds the people he's looking for

By the second day of squatting in the cabin, Ral'rush had overcome the infection in his head and hand via a steady intake of most of the alchemical stock in the basement. Rest, however, wasn't responsible for that recovery since he'd barely had any. Plotting vengeance was a laborious task, and the equipment typical of a hunting lodge left no shortage of ideas.

Closing the curtains and fixing the door frame with birch tar followed quickly after covering his own tracks outside. He even masked his scent with lime on the ground and cut lumber in the cabin just to be sure. If he had enough time to properly prepare a trap, he might as well go all out. That was only the beginning.

Mostly clothed in furs, he sat down on the couch to take a break. He'd just spent hours setting up snares from the ceiling, and before that he'd raided the wine cabinet, crushed the bottles, and affixed the broken shards beneath each windowsill with more tar. His task of planning creative ways to ambush whoever walked in had kept him so preoccupied that, when he found himself with little else to do, doubt crept into his psyche.

Although he'd obviously been wronged in every sense of the word, his inability to remember what had happened cast his plans in a bad light. He'd been inside of the cabin for two days, and there were no signs of life aside from his ravager. He was penniless excluding what he could steal from the cabin, and that was a risk; the nearest town was neutral but mostly human, and his current location was marked as Alliance territory. Trying to sell anything he could carry could possibly land him in jail in a foreign land, leaving him with few options to move on with his life and get back on his feet.

So for how long? How long was he willing to wait there to exact a revenge that may never be possible? He had no idea who the inhabitants were or where they were. He'd need money not only for himself, but for others. His boat was moored at the rivermouth near Thas'talah along with his other companion pets; the dryads there couldn't care for those forever. If he started walking at that moment, he'd need several days to arrive assuming the cabin was near Bradensbrook since he'd have to stop and forage for food; he'd already eaten most of the cabin's stock.

And then the big question...what if he had it all wrong?

What if the inhabitants had simply bought his stuff and the guitar from the black market? What if they were innocent, having thought the goods were legitimate, and had nothing to do with his misfortune? What if he waited for days and took revenge on the wrong people?

As he pondered, his gaze fell down to the ashtray. His new head and hand were still lightly colored but not as much as they'd been originally, providing a stark contrast to his old hand. Whoever had taken it must have skinned it, treated the flesh chemically, then stretched the skin back over the muscles and forced the fingers into a cupped position. The resident taxidermist whose workspace was in the corner hadn't carried out the act on a whim; what they'd done was a willful act which must have required a considerable investment of time.

He scowled. Screw doubt; the next person he saw was going to die.

Ral'rush didn't have to wait long. On the following afternoon, he was taking a nap on the couch when voices awoke him. His ravager remained curled up on the rug, but his big troll ears could easily pick up on the sound of a group of people in the quiet woods. They were still far away, granting him time to wake up his pet bug and hide.

His pulse raced as he waited for the voices to approach. They spoke Common with Gilnean accents, and a few were in worgen form. He couldn't count them exactly due to the way their voices reverberated among the trees. Maybe four? Five? They seemed weary but healthy, and they were carrying things. He could hear the sound of cheap iron camping equipment as well as a heavier soft object. His ravager nearly jumped out of his arms, ravenous at the sound of strangers, and he had to hug the creature to his chest to keep it quiet.

He had to work to control his breathing. Every time one of the voices laughed, he felt a pant of anger strike him even though he wasn't sure who they were. Keys jingled and gave him a jump, and he fought himself not to shift and drag the fur clothing he'd appropriated against the table he was hiding under. Any unnecessary sounds or movements at that moment could ruin the whole plot.

"It's good to be back," a Gilnean man in human form said while more keys jingled.

The group continued to chatter amongst themselves as he worked the door open, unaware of what lay in wait. Ral'rush almost snorted in delight when the door swung open and pulled the string for the shotgun trap he'd set up.

BLAM

The scream of the human was louder than the gunblast, and it was followed soon thereafter by angry shouts and humans shapeshifting into worgen. The door continued to hang open and shadows dashed across the midday sun, sending the ravager into a silent frenzy. Ral'rush could already hear people stalking around each side of the cabin as the others regrouped.

"You bastard, you rat bastard," the injured man yelled at the doorway while shapeshifting. "Got me in my arm, and a little in my chest," he then said to the others.

"No arteries were hit, I think," replied another, older sounding wolfman.

Before those at the front door could even counterattack, Ral'rush felt the air pressure shift rapidly in the cabin. A slight shake in the walls signaled a window being opened upstairs at the loft, and another scream rang out a second later, shocking the worgen at the front door.

"Son of a bitch, my foot! Pull me out!" the one who'd climbed in through the window yelled after stepping on the broken glass shards beneath the sill.

"Get him out, quick!" the older man yelled. "Move, move!"

More footsteps raced to the back of the building when the first few arrows flew in through the front door, though Ral'rush used the commotion outside to mask the sound of his creeping up to the loft. Many hands scrabbled against the outside wall of the building.

"I'm stuck, I can't get my leg out!"

"Calm down, let me climb-"

"My foot's cut bad, I can't set it down to press out of the window!"

"Stay calm, let me climb up next-"

Like a dodgeball of death, Ral'rush launched his pet ravager at the bloodied worgen leg sticking in through the window, allowing the insectoid to sink its toothed jaw into the furry flesh. The mere companion pet wasn't strong enough to pull the worgen inside on its own, but Ral'rush was, and the ravager helped him to minimize resistance.

"Nooo! It's another one of those things!"

"Hold on-"

"It's got me, it's got me!"

Once they'd pulled the injured wolfman inside, Ral'rush dragged him across the loft and strangled him while the big bug bit one of his wrists. Not foolhardy enough to crawl into a window with a rabid ravager on the other side, the would-be savior dropped to the ground with a thud and ran back around to the front door, where more arrows had been shot through.

"I'm going in!"

"No, just wait!" the old timer yelled.

"No, they got him! We've got to do HHAAARRRR!"

The would-be savior barged right in to the cabin, knocked the shotgun trap aside unintentionally, and stepped directly into Ral'rush's steel bear trap (which they'd stolen). The jungle troll couldn't actually see it from the loft, but he heard the trap snap shut and a bone breaking within flesh, and the blood curdling roar of the victim made the troll warrior grin even more than crushing the first infiltrator's Adam's apple did. The intruder downstairs hit the floor hissing, but the sound of another one entering and fiddling with the gun killed Ral'rush's joy.

Half a second too late, Ral'rush twisted to use the suffocating wolfman he was strangling as a living (or perhaps dying) shield. The wolfman who'd initially been shot at the door fired the last remaining round in the shotgun blindly, sending buckshot through the floor of the loft and into the jungle troll's left leg and hip. The worgen in his hands finally died, bleeding onto the floor and into the holes punched in the loft by the shotgun pellets; the troll hoped his own blood, which was flowing painfully and copiously, wouldn't cast too much of an odor. The flesh wounds stung like knife wounds but he kept quiet, trying to conceal his exact location.

Unable to restrain his ravager due to his attempts at muffling his own sounds, Ral'rush could only watch as the loyal companion pet pounced from the loft onto the shooter's head, eliciting a muffled yelp and then a gurgling cry. The sound of an arrow soon thereafter caused the troll's heart to sink, however. Ravagers were built like tanks, even the little miniature battle pet breeds, but arrows could pierce armor both manufactured and natural. Even if the specific breed he'd owned only lived for a year or two at maximum, the thought of one of his companion pets dying for his sake after having served so well on Argus sent his heart pounding in rage again. He couldn't even hear insectoid legs skittering on the wooden floor - the archer outside must have scored a headshot. That made two of his pets they'd murdered, in addition to two people that seemed like they'd been his friends.

Claws scrabbled at the doorway, but the wolf men kept quiet for a few seconds as they dragged a body out. A chain rattled, and that was when the noise level shot up again.

"DON'T LEAVE ME!" the worgen who'd stepped in the steel trap yelled.

A female Gilnean in human form, probably the person who'd been shooting arrows, replied. "Shut up! Don't draw attention!" she whispered.

"Get me out! Get me out!"

"Shut it you stupid git, it might not be dead!"

Guessing that 'it' referred to himself, Ral'rush slid across the floor of his loft, leaving the corpse of the wolf man he'd strangled behind him as the two people below argued. Every inch he crept felt like he was being shot all over again, and the troll remembered that the buckshot he'd loaded the shotgun with had been mixed with rock salt. The wound hurt much worse than it actually was, and he ignored the pain until he slid to the safest distance he could from the edge of the loft. He could see the legs of a dead worgen as it was being dragged, probably the one who'd been shot at the door and then shot him back, as well as the back spines of his ravager and an arrow sticking down in the same direction. He counted...he'd just killed two of the bastards, another was stuck in his bear trap, the archer was dragging a corpse, and he suspected there were more of them outside. This wasn't over.

The wolf man stuck in the trap continued yelling, obviously panicked and ruining the plans of his allies, who stopped responding to him. The man's roars blotted out the sounds of those outside, a major detriment to any more sneak attacks.

"...can't go..." Ral'rush heard one of the worgen outside say, likely the older male. The conversation was muffled by the outer wall and the panicked idiot downstairs. "...booby trapped..."

"...not to lose..." replied the female.

"We can't...will go...but we got..."

Just as the noise provided cover for the two worgen plotting outside, it also covered the troll's movements against the wood planks. He'd raided the cabin's weapon racks over the past three days, and he'd hidden their own weaponry all over the place. Leaving the trapped idiot to scream downstairs, he took up a few human-sized spears that felt more like darts in his big troll hands and peered around to see where the remaining worgen were.

The chain rattled again as the trapped worgen tried to escape, though he'd only cause himself more bleeding. "GET ME OUT!" the man yelled as he struggled.

The door frame creaked like it did when Ral'rush had walked through, and he knew the worgen-form fellow had entered. Maybe he was trying to surreptitiously rescue his trapped friend...he'd pay for his heroism. As soon as the brown hairs of a worgen ear appeared above the loft's edge, the jungle troll leaned over and let one of the short throwing spears fly. He caught a brief glimpse of the older worgen's unprotected neck, the trapped idiot screaming and pointing at him, and the human-form archer in the doorway who must've guessed Ral'rush's next move. She looked like she'd seen a ghost even as she shot him with an arrow.

The projectile hit him in the shoulder, piercing his appropriated fur coat and sticking into the deep muscle. He growled and rolled further back on the loft at the same time the spear he'd thrown impaled the older worgen's neck, eliciting a gurgling cry. The idiot in the bear trap roared melodramatically and collapsed to the floor, but the archer was more focused.

"Bloody hell, it's the bugger we killed!" she gasped, helping Ral'rush to ignore the pain and focus on his anger when she confirmed that he had, indeed, caught the right people.

Another arrow pierced the floor of the loft mere inches from his head, sending pinpricks up and down his skin. He slid over to the strangled corpse and tried to move behind it, but their combined weight threatened to collapse the entire loft.

"What do you mean - Denny is dead!" the idiot cried.

"I mean, that's the monster we shot in its sleep! The one we found with the two others!"

"That was weeks ago you nitwit!"

"Weeks?" Ral'rush murmured irately.

The archer shot another arrow through the loft, scoring a direct hit into Ral'rush's thigh by chance. He held his breath and carefully pulled his leg up, tensing up when the loft's rafters groaned.

"I swear it's a zombie or something! It's the same bloody mongrel!" the archer insisted while shooting another arrow into the loft.

The arrow tore into the spot where the buckshot had ripped through earlier, opening the hole a tad bit wider. When the hole was large enough for Ral'rush to see the last worgen bleeding out onto the floor in his steel trap, he knew there was a problem. The loud creak of the loft rafters wasn't even a shock anymore.

Sturdily built but not intended for a troll and a human in worgen form to occupy it at the same time, or to be shot full of lead and arrows, the loft started to tip over. The rafters only leaned to the side and allowed the entire loft to slide off of them. Glass from all shelves on the walls as well as a case full of stuffed exotic animals shattered as the whole wooden plank forming the loft's floor crashed to the ground floor in a pile of wood and other debris. Ral'rush tossed an entire mattress off of him, since it had fallen on top of him, only to immediately take an arrow to the side of his torso. His kidney felt like it had a bunch of stones in it, though it was only the arrow, and he gasped in pain as he instinctively rolled behind a countertop which wasn't quite large enough to cover his entire body. He heard the archer knock another arrow.

"That's it! That's it! That's the damned thing!"

The next arrow soared over the countertop and cut off half of his ear, though his kidney already hurt so bad that he barely even noticed. Chains rattled and another arrow was loaded as the two survivors frantically tried to back away, scared after seeing three of their companions killed in a matter of minutes.

"It's back from the dead, I tell you!" the archer yelled while shooting another arrow which scraped by Ral'rush's other ear before embedding itself in the kitchen door behind him.

"I'm bleeding, kill it fast! I'm bleeding, oh Light I'm bleeding bad!" the trapped worgen yelped.

"Bloody hell, it's got to be undead!"

"My leg is broken, kill it now! I'm bleeding!"

"Go back to hell you rat bastard!" the archer yelled while shooting off half of Ral'rush's other ear.

"I'm losing a lot of blood!"

"Die, beast!"

"Is it dead? Please let it be dead!"

RRRRRIIIIPPP

In the cacophony of yelling, neither of them had noticed the way the jungle troll was remodeling their cabin. Gripping the cabinetry and grounded cupboards on both sides, Ral'rush ripped the entire kitchen cabinet and countertop for the breakfast nook off of the floor and lifted it in front of him like a shield. He couldn't see around it safely, but he did hear the sound of another arrow and felt it pole a hole in the cabinet and break a few coffee mugs inside. Safe in the knowledge that she needed time to reload, he threw the entire cupboard, countertop and all, in her direction. She dodged, but he saw her bow clatter to the ground in the process.

Bleeding, limping, and reeling, Ral'rush gripped a sword he'd hidden near the kitchen door and tried to cut the human-form archer down. She rolled out of the way, leaving him to cut one of their couches in half as she started to shape shift. Not granting her the chance, he tensed up and charged at her despite the grinding pain of the hot lead still stuck in his hip, reaching her as she was halfway through her transformation. He returned the favor they'd bestowed upon him, slashing at her with the sword and separating her patchily furred body from her twisted, terrifying half-human and half-animal head. The effort forced him to squeeze into a hallway leading to another sitting room, and the arrow stuck in his kidney caught on the wall in the cramped space. Unable to control the effect which the movement pressed into his kidney due to his wound, he felt his bladder shift and his stolen pants soak with a small bit of urine and a lot of blood. He pulled the arrow out of his kidney, groaning in pain and hoping that specific wound would heal before the others.

Every step he took back to the main room of the cabin made him feel like his body was about to break apart at the midsection. He found the last survivor curled up into a ball and dry heaving on the floor. When Ral'rush reached for the wolfman, he was surprised to find that his target had been carrying a sword. The worgen slashed upward at Ral'rush and severed two of the jungle troll's fingers halfway down, sending the wriggling extremities to the floor. A second slash missed by a long shot since the steel trap on the wolfman's leg was chained to a distant floorboard, and the worgen collapsed in a bloody heap a few feet out of striking distance.

The slice of the sword was so clean and fast that the wounds didn't even hurt, and Ral'rush felt more confused than angry. "Seriously?" he asked with a raised brow.

Shocked at the sound of a troll speaking its language almost competently, the worgen looked up for a pregnant moment. The wolfman was already trembling from system shock, and he'd die from blood loss no matter what since Ral'rush didn't know anything about first aid. Once he overcame the initial surprise, a morose expression spread across the wolfman's lupine face.

"It was worth a shot," the worgen replied, and then coughed and hacked for a few seconds. A strange melancholy sadness filled those lupine eyes, and though Ral'rush was still pissed off and unmoved, he did pause long enough to let the worgen have a few last words. "I wish it hadn't turned out this way for any of us."

Ral'rush folded his stumpy knuckles up in the length of the fur coat he'd worn to slow the bleeding. "Me too," he answered before turning the wolfman into his soup for the evening.


	4. Things somehow work themselves out

In the absence of a star map, Ral'rush ended up taking a winding path back to Bradensbrook. The distance from the town to the cabin should have been a day's walk, but he'd been unable to find a road for two days because he didn't know where he was. Having gorged himself on his attackers for a week and a half of recuperation and regeneration in the cabin before that, as well as having spent however many weeks it had taken his body to grow his head back while laying in a ditch, he'd actually lost a considerable chunk of his time from the whole ordeal.

At least he'd been able to build a sled full of their stuff and pull it behind him before he burned the cabin down. That felt kind of good.

As he finally merged with throngs of travelers and traders entering Bradensbrook, he felt like he'd won his life back again. The local humans paid him no mind, and he saw a few fellow members of the Horde pass through as well. Knowing that humans of any political stripe loved their rules and regulations, he hauled his cache of appropriated goods straight to the town hall in order to appeal for permission to sell in the town.

Inside the door, he lined up behind various locals and outsiders waiting in line for things. Nobody seemed to care about his presence until the Bradensbrook constable entered and gasped as if he'd seen a ghost.

"You," the portly human said while tugging on the leather cloak the troll had appropriated from the cabin. "Look here for a second."

Ral'rush vaguely recognized the man, and he correctly guessed that the worgen who'd attacked him must have visited the town. "Sir," he replied, turning his head around a bit to let the constable get a good look at him.

The constable mouthed a few words silently before regaining his voice. "Good, it's you. You need to come see the mayor now." The constable pulled him out of line and rapidly walked to a back room, leading Ral'rush to an empty office with a large-sized chair. "Please, wait here. It's good you're alive, but the mayor needs to see for himself."

"Thanks."

A few minutes later, Mayor Heathrow walked in. The Gilnean closed the door and sat down quickly, looking the jungle troll over for a few seconds.

"I remember you. Blimey, we would've been in big trouble...I mean, some hooligans came through claiming they'd killed someone who looks just like you. It almost caused a riot."

"Who said they'd killed me...who was gonna riot?" Ral'rush asked.

"Five of them, some of my people but not locals. A few weeks ago they caused a ruckus in a pub down the street when they claimed they'd murdered three Horde members. They described two local orcs plus you to the tee, and the shite hit the fan. We had a bunch of traders here from Orgrimmar, and they were understandably ticked off. They almost brawled about it, and our town hasn't seen anything like that. We welcome anyone in if they're willing to work."

"That's why I'm here."

"Good, I'm happy to hear that. But listen, Rush, is it? You've done business here before. I'll need you to help our town if that's to continue."

"How?" the troll asked.

"You know Bradensbrook. A lot of us have affiliations, but we can't afford to let that affect the town. We let anybody come through here, and that requires us to put a lid on any factional problems. I need you to calm down all this Alliance-Horde shenanigans."

For a few seconds, Ral'rush paused and gave the request some thought. He hadn't planned on talking to the mayor at all and was taken aback by what he was being asked to do.

"Look, mister mayor...I got no problem with any whole race of people, but I'm no carebear either."

"It's not like that - look, let's view this another way. I don't need you to like the Alliance. Forget them, this isn't about them. It's about Bradensbrook. Right now, we have fifteen orc peons who were supposed to train some of our people in roofing and now they don't want to work. Our town can't go on like this. I'm not asking you to change your views; I'm asking you to help the families who live here."

"How?" the troll asked again.

"Just show your face. These hooligans were bragging about how they killed you, so show the people that it's not true. Word spreads fast here - if you even show your face at the pub around Alliance members, go talk to those orcs and show that you have no axe to grind, then you can calm tensions here."

Ral'rush folded his hands over his lap and thought. His only experience with Mayor Heathrow had shown that the man was usually quite hard-nosed and short-tempered. Asking for something instead of demanding it down the barrel of a gun must have been hard on the old human. Plus, if Ral'rush refused, he was sure he'd be staring down the barrel of a gun anyway. Heathrow was, by the grizzled human's standards, being generous.

"I'm gonna do it for your kids and families."

"That's what I want to hear," Heathrow answered swiftly. "You're a traveler; stick around for a while. You know this is a good place for travelers, and the longer you stay peacefully, the better you drive home the message that everything is fine and no harm has been done."

No harm has been done? Ral'rush thought. He thought twice before saying that out loud.

"You got it, mister mayor. While I be here, I have wares to sell-"

"Duty free, it's duty free. Don't spread that because it's an exception to the rule, but if you keep it quiet, then you don't need to worry about taxes on whatever you sell during the coming weekend. Just make sure you sell everything at that weekend, not later, and don't say a word."

Mayor Heathrow wasn't a softie nor a beggar; Ral'rush was either very lucky or Heathrow was in an exceptionally good mood. The jungle troll knew when it was time to take his chips and cash in lest the mayor grow annoyed at any perceived obstinance.

"I'm gonna go have a drink first," Ral'rush replied. Heathrow stood and nodded, so Ral'rush stood too. "I'm not gonna be too obvious or patronizing...I'll make sure it comes off as natural."

Heathrow shook Ral'rush's hand, and the troll was surprised at how such a small being could have such a firm grip. "You're a good man. And this was a good talk about your recent trip, and only your recent trip." Heathrow didn't even bother winking, and Ral'rush kept quiet as the two of them exited in opposite directions.

Outside the office, the constable passed by, and Ral'rush stopped him. The rotund human followed him into a corner, almost as curious as the troll was.

"What did those people say about me?" he whispered.

The constable shook his head in disapproval. "Proper thugs, they were. They gave your exact description, what you were doing - remember when you left with those two leather merchants who hired you?"

Ral'rush wanted to know more, but he couldn't pretend not to know - not if he wanted to maintain the illusion the mayor had asked of him. "Hmm...the two orcs, or the two elves?" he dishonestly asked.

"What? I don't remember your elf friends. The two peons, the ones you left Benny's Uptown Pub with, remember?"

"Yeah," the troll lied.

"Right. So anyway, these thugs described you and your friends exactly, then start bragging about how they murdered you all in the night. They said something about a guitar, which was just nonsense, that they followed the sound of a guitar and jumped on your friends. They said you were half asleep and they just shot you in the back of the head, and that they chased one of your friends for a while before mauling him to death. Oh, and something about monsters from Outland...it was sheer nonsense, but the way they said it was the problem."

Ral'rush didn't feel angry anymore, even when he reflected on the truth of what had happened. Unlike some people, he actually felt rather fulfilled by exacted revenge, not empty. "Sounds like a tall tale," he chuckled nervously. "No, things didn't work out with me and the peons. I just want get myself back on my feet."

"You're in the right place. Listen, I've got to get back to work, but make sure things stay quiet with all this politics, okay?"

"Understood, constable. Thank you."

Eager to leave and hold on to the tax-free promise he'd received, Ral'rush hurried outside to haul his appropriated goods to an inn. He didn't understand banking, so renting a room and hovering around it was the only way he could keep the stuff safe until he sold it all. He could always have a drink at the inn's ground floor to show his face that night; the town was terrible for gossip, so people would hear about his presence fast.

That was the most ironic aspect. He had to keep the reality quiet, especially since the peons gaping at him across from the town hall as he dragged a sled full of wares to the inn might have known the two who'd died. He'd need to concoct a story about them leaving town and him not knowing the five thugs who'd attacked him; nobody could know the truth.

He'd been decapitated in his sleep, grew a new head, wandered sick for half a day, booby trapped the hideout of his attackers after following their tracks to it, killed then, **ate** them, and set all that remained of the scene in fire.

And he couldn't tell anybody.

"Shit."


End file.
